


The Sorting of Peter Pettigrew

by melian225



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Gen, Hogwarts, Marauders' Era, Sorting Ceremony, Wormtail - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melian225/pseuds/melian225
Summary: Peter Pettigrew is on his way to Hogwarts, unsure of what to expect. Until the Sorting Hat is put on his head.





	

The train pulled into the station, its final destination. Peter watched in fascination as the older students filed off, leaving their trunks behind them. He thought he’d heard someone say that they would be taken to the school later, but he didn’t see how they could be. Then again, he was still young and had little experience of magic – his parents did very little in front of him, for some reason wanting him to learn it all once he got to school rather than getting the wrong idea from them.

“But why is it wrong?” he’d asked, confused. “Don’t you do it right?”

His mother had beamed at him. “I do fine, Peter,” she had said reassuringly. Mollycoddling, really, she was. “But I never learned the proper way of doing magic, I didn’t go to that school of yours.”

“Then why do I have to go?” he’d asked, for what had to be the hundredth time. His mother had been home-schooled, why not him? “I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.”

The truth was, he was frightened of Hogwarts. He was frightened of the huge castle his father had described, frightened of the hundreds of other students, most of whom would be older than him, frightened of getting everything wrong. As an only child, he didn’t have much experience in socialising and the thought of not having his own room, of having to share a dormitory like his father had described with up to four other boys, of never having time to himself, was more daunting than he cared to admit.

He had cried as the train had departed London. He didn’t know anyone on it and the sense of loss he’d felt as he looked at his parents for the last time in months, their faces fading out of view, had been overwhelming. Luckily he’d been alone in the train compartment – or, as good as alone until four older students entered the car, to his horror all girls. He guessed they were perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old and they paid little or no attention to the small mousy-haired boy in the corner. This suited Peter just fine - he barely made eye contact with them.

And now, the train was at the station and just about everyone was already on the platform. He reluctantly followed them, no one even noticing as he exited the train with trepidation. In the distance, he could see a giant of a man who seemed to be calling for first years, though his strong accent made him hard to understand. _Another reason I shouldn’t be here_ , he thought sullenly. _I won’t be able to understand anyone. What if I meet someone from Scotland or Ireland or something?_

As he wandered towards the large man, for the first time he began to resent his sheltered life. The closer he got, the clearer the man’s dialect seemed to become, and Peter obediently allowed himself to be led off the platform with a number of other eleven year olds. At least, he assumed they were eleven year olds. Why else would they be in first year, he reasoned to himself.

“Down here, down here,” the large man was saying. “Four t’ a boat, that’s it. No crowding, mind, an’ no pushing. There’s enough fer everyone.”

_Better go with the flow_ , Peter thought. _Not much point in complaining now. I’m here, and I don’t think Mum and Dad are likely to come for me if I don’t like it._

He found himself in a boat with three others, a little girl with long red hair, a little girl with short blonde hair, and a dank, pale-faced boy with black hair that even in the semi-darkness seemed to radiate grease. The redheaded girl and the boy seemed to know each other, because they kept whispering in each other’s ears, but the blonde girl was clearly as alone as he was. For a moment, he felt a pang of empathy and companionship for her. They were both in the same boat, figuratively as well as literally.

“What are the Houses again?” the red-haired girl asked. “Slytherin, that’s the one you want to be in …”

“Yes, Slytherin, you need to be really smart to be a Slytherin,” the boy said. Peter felt confused – he’d heard that Slytherin was for the ambitious, not the smart.   _Either way_ , he thought, _I won’t end up there._

“And there’s Ravenclaw,” the boy went on. Even his voice sounded oily, and Peter recoiled from him involuntarily. “That’s for the brains of the school.”

“I thought Slytherin was for the smart ones?” The girl sounded puzzled.

“It’s a different kind of smart,” the boy said. “Slytherin’s more street smarts, Ravenclaw’s for the toffs.”

“Oh.” The girl looked like she was struggling to take it all in. “What else are there? What about Griffin, or whatever that one was that those awful boys were talking about on the train?”

The boy scowled. “Gryffindor,” he said, making it sound like a snake hissing. “That’s for brawn, not brains. They’re supposed to be brave but really they’re just too stupid to know when they’re in danger.”

“And?” the girl prompted. “There are four, aren’t there?”

“Hufflepuff.” If anything, the boy made it sound even worse than his Gryffindor hiss. “That’s for who’s left.”

_That’ll be me_ , Peter thought. _I’m not smart, no matter how you look at it, and I’m not brave._

Peter’s attention was suddenly diverted by the spectacle of the huge castle appearing before them, towering over the lake, its many turrets silhouetted against the darkening sky. Staring at it, he suddenly thought it looked welcoming rather than frightening. Already in his mind’s eye he could see the welcoming fires, the sumptuous feasts, the thick covers on the beds. _Was I really scared of coming here?_ he thought to himself. _Why? If anything, it looks inviting._

He looked around at the other children in the different boats. With the odd exception (one dark-haired boy with glasses, in particular, looked very confident), nearly all of them looked just as scared as he’d been. Most of them didn’t seem to know the people they were sharing boats with and looked too shy to start up a conversation.

It was like a light had gone on inside Peter’s head. _Most of these people are just like me_. The realisation was illuminating. Even if he had had a sheltered upbringing, even if he didn’t know anyone, even if he had never shared a bedroom with anyone before, chances were that at least one of his dorm-mates would have had similar experiences, in one way or another, to his.

He didn’t even feel nervous when the boats suddenly went straight for the cliff face, only to go through a wall of ivy and into an underground harbour. _It’s not like they’re about to kill off all their first years_ , he reasoned. He was almost smiling as he climbed out of the boat and followed the blonde-haired girl, his eyes on the back of her head in the crowd as they all followed the large man with the accent.

“Over here, yeh, tha’s right,” he was saying. “Come on, firs’ years, this way.”

Eventually they found themselves inside the castle, a group of frightened-looking eleven year olds huddled around an imposing-looking witch with black hair tied into a bun.

“First years,” she said, her voice sounding precise, “we will shortly go into the Great Hall where you will be Sorted into your Houses.” She paused, her eyes travelling over the children before her. “The four Houses at Hogwarts School are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Each of these Houses has a long and noble history and it is an honour to be selected for any one of them.”

One little girl with dark pig-tails looked panicked. “What if you don’t get into any of them?” she whispered. “What if you’re not good enough? Do they send you back home?”

Peter sniggered to himself. _That’s what your Hogwarts letter was about,_ he thought. _If you’re not good enough, you wouldn’t have got a letter, would you?_

The black-haired witch looked down at them. “Once you have been Sorted, you will take your place at the table belonging to your House. Now, please follow me.” Without even waiting to see if anyone had questions, she turned on her heel and opened the doors behind her dramatically.

More than one person gasped – the room they were being led into seemed to have no ceiling. Safe in the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one surprised by this, Peter let himself gape and gawk as he went inside. _I’ll learn what that’s about eventually, I suppose_ , he thought. _There probably is a ceiling, it’s just so high that we can’t see it. It looks good, though._

The black-haired witch had gone into a room off the hall and brought back a three-legged stool and a very old, battered hat. “This is the Hogwarts Sorting Hat. I will place it on your head and it will decide which House is best suited to you, based on what’s inside your head.”

The hat, placed on the stool in plain sight of everyone in the room, suddenly began to sing from a rip in its brim.

_A welcome to our newest minds_  
_Who come to learn our trade;_  
_A welcome to those who return,_  
_Their futures not yet made._  
_Come ride with me as we explore_  
_The roads you all shall take,_  
_And watch with awe as fortunes rise_  
_Or, conversely, they break._  
_And now, I have the happy task_  
_Of Sorting those anew,_  
_But as I place them I must ask_  
_If this is wrong to do._  
_If bravest go to Gryffindor_  
_To demonstrate their nerve,_  
_And cleverest to Ravenclaw_  
_As truly they deserve;_  
_If cunning goes to Slytherin_  
_To coax out their ambition,_  
_And loyalty to Hufflepuff,_  
_Befitting its tradition,_  
_Then are we best prepared to fight_  
_That outside force we fear_  
_That seeks to vanquish what is right_  
_And what we hold so dear?_  
_I fear it best that we unite_  
_No matter what our lure_  
_To face the perils found outside_  
_These walls we keep secure._  
_But I am just a Sorting Hat_  
_And while I feel concern_  
_My job is to Sort students here_  
_To where they best will learn,_  
_So as you sit down on this stool_  
_And hear your fate from me,_  
_Remember you’re at Hogwarts now –  
_ _Accept your destiny!_

_Phew, that’s a big ask,_ Peter thought to himself. Around him, other first years were looking worried.

“Accept my destiny?” one asked. “But I’m only eleven! How do I even know what my destiny is?”

The black-haired witch silenced them all with a look, and Peter had the distinct impression that this woman would be even stricter than his grandmother.

“Aubrey, Bertram,” the witch said in a clear voice.

A terrified-looking boy with red hair and freckles came forward nervously and sat on the stool. The witch placed the hat on his head, and it promptly fell down past his ears, leaving just his chin visible. After a few seconds the hat yelled out, “Hufflepuff!”

The table to Peter’s left burst into cheers and the boy, now looking relieved, scurried off to join them.

“Avery, Clive,” said the witch.

A lanky boy with a pronounced cowlick sat on the stool. The hat barely grazed his hair before it announced, “Slytherin!” The table on the far right started cheering and Peter looked over at them. _So that’s Slytherin,_ he thought. _They don’t look that cunning._

Janine Belcher, a tall girl with sandy hair and glasses, was then sorted into Ravenclaw. This time, the table to Peter’s right erupted, signifying where the students from that House were sitting.

_Just leaves Gryffindor_ , Peter thought. _Guess that’s them on the far left. They don’t look all that brave, either._

“Black, Sirius,” said the witch. A tall boy with floppy black hair and an arrogant look to his face sauntered forwards, and when the witch placed the hat on his head it sat there jauntily, at just the right angle, as though it had been placed there for a modelling assignment. Out of the corner of his eye Peter noticed the students sitting at the far table on the right, the Slytherins, moving over to make room for him.

The Sorting Hat seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to Sort this boy, and Peter moved his weight from one leg to the other in an effort to make himself more comfortable. Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably really only a matter of seconds, it came to life again. “Gryffindor!”

The hum of chatter that had been in the room was silenced immediately, and Peter got the impression that this was an unexpected turn of events. The boy himself, the subject of the commotion, seemed decidedly surprised and flashed a look of apology across the room as he made his way to the table on the far left, from which Peter could hear a belated smattering of applause.

The hum started up again, and Peter caught a few snippets of conversation. “Didn’t she say Black? What’s he doing in Gryffindor?” “Has there ever been a Black not in Slytherin?” “What the heck’s going on?” He looked with interest at this boy, this new Gryffindor, wondering if there was a reason for all this conjecture. What was so different about this boy that caused such a stir?

He watched without interest as Betty Braithwaite, Greta Catchlove (who he recognised as the blonde girl from his boat) and Buckley Cooper were Sorted into Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively, and yawned as Philbert Deverill became a new Slytherin. His eyes focused again when the redhead from his boat, apparently called Lily Evans, became another Gryffindor; he looked for the greasy-haired boy who was her friend, who had wanted to become a Slytherin, and saw that he looked incredibly disappointed. _Oh well_ , he thought, _I guess the hat knows what it’s doing._

As the names started to get towards P, and the number of students waiting to be Sorted dwindled, Peter started to prepare himself. He was sure it wasn’t painful, the Sorting process – the most discomfort any student had seemed to display was bewilderment rather than pain – and he started wondering where the hat would place him. As Madeleine Marjoribanks became a Ravenclaw, and Travis Mulciber a Slytherin, he stood up straight, as tall as he could get, and waited.

“Oakby, Eunice!” _Not far off now_.

“Pepper, Octavius!” _Almost certainly next_.

“Pettigrew, Peter!”

Finally, it was here. He strode forwards, leaving behind fifteen or so students still to be Sorted, surprising himself by how calm he was. Turning to face the room, he sat on the stool and waiting as the Sorting Hat was placed on his head.

_Hmmm_ , said a voice in his ear, _an interesting case here. A need to prove yourself, I see, as well as cunning and a willingness to break the rules if necessary. And a need for acceptance, too, that’s very pronounced. But where will you be most successful?_

Peter squirmed uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure he liked it, having his innermost thoughts and feelings probed like this, and wondered how quickly it could be over. _You may be a Slytherin_ , it concluded.

Peter thought of the dark haired, sallow faced boy who so wanted to be in Slytherin, and of the stories his father had told him about Slytherin classmates. He shuddered involuntarily. _Do I have to be a Slytherin?_

The hat seemed to consider this. _Could you be a Gryffindor?_ it pondered in his ear.

_I’m not sure,_ he told it. _Don’t you have to be brave to go there?_

For some time Peter and the hat argued. The hat seemed to think he belonged in Slytherin, but Peter didn’t see himself like that at all; but the only other alternative seemed to be Gryffindor. Peter, who considered himself more of a Hufflepuff, based on his father’s stories, was less than convinced.

_I’m not brave_ , he insisted.

_But you are_ , the hat said. _Have you not already extinguished your fears of coming here? Have you not already conquered your nerves about meeting new people, making new friends, even about sharing a dormitory? Have you not argued your case with me, who holds the power to determine your house and in a sense your destiny? Is that not bravery?_

_You’re right_ , he realised, smiling at the hat. _I am brave. I’m at Hogwarts and I’m going to make friends here._

_Good for you_ , said the hat, chuckling a little. _That’s what I like to hear. The willingness to face what’s ahead, even if it makes you a little uncomfortable. I think you will do well in … GRYFFINDOR!!!!!_

This last word was shouted for the whole hall to hear, and the Gryffindor table burst into applause. Peter stood up and walked over to it, feeling dazed. The haughty-looking boy moved over to make room for him, and Peter found himself in between him and another boy, also a first year, brown haired and with a kind face. _These are my room-mates,_ Peter realised suddenly. _These boys will be my friends._

“Hi,” he said, determined to validate the Sorting Hat’s faith in him. This was Gryffindor, the home of the brave, and he wanted to prove that he did fit in here. “Nice to meet you. I’m Peter.”


End file.
